


cold integrity keeps me wide awake

by rxcrcfllptrs



Series: Teen Crafted AU [2]
Category: Skydom, Team Crafted
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Teen Crafted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the deep bowels of Quentin's notes, photo albums, and video games is probably a note saying "Never, ever, EVER feed Ian sugar after 10pm. - Ian's Parents" and he's never going to unearth it because his method of cleaning up is dumping everything he doesn't need into the trash can. Eh. He'll survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cold integrity keeps me wide awake

**Author's Note:**

> Again, binge-writing because I lost the copy of the book I have to make a paper on. Hurried writing from a sleep-addled 16-year-old who is currently stressing over her grades, so expect mistakes. Title from Owl City's "Cave In".

Quentin doesn't know how he finds himself in these kinds of situations.

But anyway, it's 2 in the morning and he's just gotten off his caffeine high, not achieving much of his paper due tomorrow. His roommate is in worse state, having crashed from a sugar high an hour ago but blood still pumping quickly that he couldn't fall asleep. (He swears Ian's parents should've left him a memo in case of these kinds of things. Ian doesn't even have homework to do!)

He's half-asleep, forehead on his hand on an elbow propped up on the desk, when someone pokes him on the arm. "Queeeentin," it brings him back to consciousness, settling the dull ache that pounds the back of his head whenever he's woken up for a half-stupor. "Queeeeeentin."

He sighs and drops the pen he didn't think would still be in his grip. "What is it, Ian?"

"Do you ever feel bad for pistachios?" He groans.  _Oh god, here it comes_. "'Cause, y'know, they've been living in this shell for their entire lives, and then you crack them open and then they're like "FREEDOM!" but then you eat them and then they're dead," even without looking, he can tell that Ian's pouting. "I feel bad for pistachios."

"You don't have to, buddy," Quentin replies sleepily. "I'm allergic to nuts and you're currently out of your mind," he props his head up again to look at his roommate. "You should go to sleep. Don't you have class at 8?"

Ian's face gains a thoughtful expression for a second, and then he suddenly - for the lack of a better word - flops onto his bunk face down on the pillow. In a few minutes, the rising and falling of Ian's back slows down.

 _Finally,_ Quentin thinks, picking up his pen again.

For a few minutes, the silence is only broken by the scratch of pen on paper, before a muffled voice speaks again. "Do people make their beds or is that just a myth?"

Quentin sighs again. "Go to sleep, Ian."


End file.
